Backwards
by solveariddle
Summary: In the end, what matters are the memories, the moments they shared. A glimpse at how Cal's and Gillian's life together could have been.


**A/N:** Oneshot. The title is program. This story tells Cal's & Gillian's life _backwards_ by taking a glimpse at special moments they shared. I hope the structure is not too confusing. As to what to expect: This is not as much angst/drama as my usual stories. It starts rather fluffy and gets more serious as it continues. The concept by itself isn't new, but this is my take on it. I thought it would be a good fit for LTM since the way the show ended, confirming that Callian would have become canon, it kind of ended with a beginning like this story. #LieToMeLives Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own LTM. Never did, never will.

* * *

**The end**

The days get shorter; fall turns into winter, and the air has that certain clarity when it is about to snow. Outside, the sun sets as they are sitting in their living room, reading, the crackle of the chimney the only sound in the room. It's a peaceful atmosphere.

Gillian is sprawled over the sofa. She still reads romance novels. These days, though, it is no wishful thinking or escapism anymore. She has enough love and romance in her life and doesn't need or want to escape reality. She simply enjoys it. The last sunbeams are reflected on her face; her shoulder-length hair has the color of a lightish silver by now. She stopped coloring it some years ago, and it suits her. Gillian is not ageless even if Cal assumed she was for a while. Nevertheless, the little crinkles in her face don't diminish her beauty. In the dim light, she looks almost ethereal.

Cal has aged well, too, although he doesn't care about grey hair or wrinkles. All he cares about is that Gillian loves him, no matter whether he is charming or grumpy or downright annoying, and lets him love her back. He is sitting in his favorite armchair, pretending to read the newspaper but mostly just watching her. She senses his gaze – she always does – and looks up, smiling at him. They need no words. It's always the same ritual when they spend a quiet evening at home. They start out like this, and after a while, he comes over to sit or lie on the sofa with her, to feel the warmth of her body. He always does.

It took them a while to find their way to each other. More than _a while_ actually. They were business partners first, then friends and still waited almost nine more years until they risked to take the next step and become lovers. Those years, though, are nothing compared to the decades that have passed since, decades they have been spending together happily. Rome as well wasn't built in a day.

Later on, they watch an old movie together and talk a bit until they doze off in front of the chimney. When the fire burns out, and it is starting to get cold, Gillian kisses Cal softly and wakes him up.

"Let's go to sleep."

"Of course, Gill, of course," he mumbles, and she has to smile. Obviously, Cal wasn't only dozing but had already fallen asleep. He is always like this in such moments, cute but like an awkward child, about to whine.

Usually he takes care of the chimney, but tonight Gillian extinguishes the last flames before she makes him tag along upstairs to their bedroom. It is another ritual. Whenever possible, they go to bed together. Of course, there are days when she is already asleep when he gets to bed or vice versa. But even in their sleep, their bodies and hands find a way to hold each other tightly.

Outside, snow has begun to fall, covering the world with its gentle, silent embrace.

* * *

**The next generation(s)**

When Emily tells him that she plans on marrying, Cal is not excited. In fact, he is anything but.

"Bloody hell, you're 24," he almost accuses her.

"So?" Emily knows her father well enough. It is always advantageous to her if she lets him blow off steam first. Less energy to argue it out with her later.

"Why marry at 24? You're way too young." His hands fly through the air, emphasizing his last sentence as if he is talking about decades and not only years.

"So, it's better to wait until you're _old enough_ to screw up your first marriage and wait even longer until you find the love of your life and marry a second time?"

Even if Cal's face tells Emily that she boiled it down, he snatches at her argumentation like a dog at a bone, "Don't talk like that about your mother and me. We didn't screw it up. Well...," he considers his words, his body doing this little dance that is his trademark. "...maybe we did. But...," he stops, having lost his train of thought. Damn, she almost outsmarted him.

"Nice try, young lady," Cal gets closer to his daughter as if he could threaten her with his sheer presence. They both know she won't back away from him just one millimeter, and she doesn't.

"I love him, dad." Emily has been having years of practice to become aware when to catch her father off-guard. Now, that the tension between them starts to ease, it seems to be the right moment. "And he loves me. And even if I take after you and my marriage fails, why wait? Being older doesn't necessarily equal being smarter since you and mum _were_ older when you married for the first time."

Instead of an answer, Cal growls and unsuccessfully tries to stare her down. Her comment on loving her boyfriend, fiancé, whatever, has softened him up a bit. The comment on being older and not smarter, though, hit a little too close to home.

"Just kidding," Emily smiles at him. "I think you're quite smart. At least most of the time. And even more since you hooked yourself Gillian. I want what you two have, too."

And this is it. How could he speak to the contrary? Ever. Cal puts his arms around his daughter.

"You know that I don't need your consent to marry, do you?" she mumbles into his shoulder. "But I'd really like you to lead me to the altar."

_To the altar..._ Cal is torn between affection because, after all, it _is_ a beautiful picture that crosses his mind and shock because it will be his daughter, _his little girl_, that will cement her adulthood by marrying. He grabs Emily's shoulders and pushes her back so that he can look at her. For a brief moment, she fears that their argument will start all over again.

"Tell him I will break his legs if he screws it up," Cal then says.

Emily tears up, nods and embraces him again.

"Thank you, dad."

It takes a while until he releases her and when he does, they both pretend not to notice that he teared up, too.

* * *

Later on, they tell Gillian when she comes home, and of course, she is excited and has no concerns at all. All she wants is to pick the wedding cake together with Emily. Cal rolls his eyes, foreseeing having to hear about a subject during the next weeks and even months he is as interested in as pulling teeth.

The cake Gillian and Emily eventually choose is a monstrosity in white and pink and is probably going to reduce everyone's lifetime due to its enormous amount of sugar. Gillian's smile at the wedding, though, compensates Cal for every day and evening he had to listen to her and Emily's ramblings about the _perfect cake_. Cal couldn't care less about the cake, but this is perfect, anyway.

* * *

Unlike her parent's first marriage, Emily's doesn't fail. She and her husband have two beautiful daughters that have grown up by now and become beautiful women. It's only a matter of time until there will be another generation. On some days Cal is almost painfully aware that he could have missed all this. He could have missed the failure of his first marriage and never would have gotten Emily. He could have missed his chance with Gillian and never would have gotten happy. As it is, he has it all, and for someone who always considered family his blind spot, he did quite good.

* * *

**The miracle that is not meant to be**

They don't talk about it, but they act. Using a contraceptive is no option for them but tempting fate is. It is a long shot; they both are aware of it. Either she will get pregnant or not. She doesn't, and after a while, neither of them expects it anymore. Still, they don't talk about it. Not out of ignorance or oblivion but because they know they were expecting a miracle to happen and quarreling with it feels like tempting fate even more and risking to poison what they have. Not every dream has to become true to lead a happy life.

Then, one day, Cal comes home and finds Gillian sitting in an armchair in the living room, legs tucked up, a blanket wrapped around her. Usually its him sitting in this armchair. He loves to sit in it and read or just dwell on his thoughts. The fact that she chose it, and the way she is sitting in it, protecting herself against the world with a blanket, tell him that something is wrong. Very wrong.

"Hey, luv," he hunches up in front of her. "What's going on?"

When she looks at him, the raw desperation in her eyes sets his teeth on edge.

"I saw Sophie today. At least I think it was her. And I...," her voice trails off, and she bursts into tears.

Cal puts his arms around her and lets her cry. There is nothing he can say to comfort her that she doesn't already know. His heart aches for Gillian. Her next words, though, will haunt him for years to come because of the deep sadness in her voice.

"I'm sorry that we can't have children."

It is like her to say such a thing, to blame herself, but aside from the sympathy and his own sadness he feels about this certain issue, Cal fumes at her words and leans back.

"Never say that again," he hisses, emphasizing each word, not caring that Gillian flinches. He has to get his message across. "It is as it is. I'm not sorry about _anything_ when it comes to you or us."

She looks at him for a very long time, the expression in her eyes unreadable until she eventually lets him see her despair that is replaced by hope and love soon. Obviously, he managed to get through to her. Gillian stops crying; her breathing calms down.

"Do you ever think about it?" she asks reluctantly, intertwining their fingers. "How it is for people who have it all? People who never had to deal with addictions, failed marriages or an inability to conceive?"

Cal has some skeletons in the closet; some demons of his past still haunt him on a regular basis. Nevertheless, he is just not the type to struggle with his fate as a matter of principle.

"No, I don't, luv," he whispers, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear tenderly. "Why should I? Lucky bastard that I am. I have everything I ever wanted. Right here."

His words make her tear up again. She leans forward until their foreheads touch.

"Then consider me a lucky bastard, too," Gillian breathes, and Cal smiles because she could have simply said _thank you_ or anything else that would have been appropriate but basically a meaningless truism. Instead, she chose his words. No better way to express her love for him.

He kisses her softly and pulls her up. Cal's knees hurt because, let's face it, he's not in his twenties anymore and not used to cower in such an uncomfortable position. So, they swap the armchair for the sofa, sitting there together in a tight embrace until the night falls.

They never talk about it again. There are no words to make it better. From time to time, sadness overwhelms Gillian and whenever Cal becomes aware of it, he just holds her until it gets better. There is nothing else he can do and even if it's not much, it is more than enough.

* * *

**The (un)expected promise**

They have just moved in together, unpacked what felt like a thousand moving boxes and had their own special housewarming party in bed.

"Is this sunlight?" Cal groans, pulling the blanket over his head.

The unpacking went on until after midnight, and obviously, their housewarming party took up the rest of the night.

"No, it isn't. You're hallucinating," Gillian teases him, snuggling into him.

For a while, they just lie there together, almost dozing off. Then his voice brings her back to the here and now.

"I could get used to this," he mumbles. "You. Me. Living together." There is a brief pause; Gillian feels his body tense up. "For the rest of our lives," he continues.

"What was that?" she laughs, aware that it is a deflection more than anything else. Gillian is touched and doesn't know how to react. Moving in together was a big step for them already, and Cal is not really the romantic-love-confessions type. "Are you proposing that we stay together for the rest of our lives? Without the whole ring-on-finger thing, of course."

There is another pause. Longer this time until she sits up to look at him.

"What if I want it with the whole ring-on-finger thing?" Cal asks cautiously.

Now, it is Gillian who needs a pause.

"So, you _are_ proposing to me," she states the obvious, not even trying to hide her surprise and confusion. She didn't expect that. Never in a million years.

"Guess I am, luv."

Of course, they raised the subject, talked about it briefly. If one of them wanted to get married again one day. But it was in the abstract because of the _once bitten, twice shy_ experience they both had made, and basically, they agreed that marriage was a concept rather doomed to fail than to succeed. At least when it came to them and their past, and as a consequence, not worth to even consider it as part of their future. Then again, there is theory, and there is reality. A reality that shows both of them every day that it simply feels right to wake up together, go to sleep together, just _be_ together. So, would a marriage change anything for the better? Would it make a difference? And most important of all, does she want it? There are so many thoughts and feelings twirling deep down inside her that it makes her dizzy.

"Truth?" Gillian asks.

"Always," Cal answers without hesitation although he isn't sure whether he can handle the truth this time.

"I definitely want the for the rest of our lives part," she says, beaming at him, and he relaxes a little. "I'm not sure, though, about the ring-on-finger part. We both had that, and it didn't work out."

Cal gives thought to her words.

"We didn't have it together," he reasons. "You are not Zoe, and I'm not Alec. We won't fail."

Gillian is familiar with his determination that can be fierce at times. As it is now. She studies his expression, reaches out to stroke his jawline when she sees that he clenches his teeth.

"Are you afraid I'll run away?" she says quietly, addressing his primal fear of being left behind. "You don't have to marry me, Cal. I won't run away. Ever."

His expression softens, and he nods, admitting at the same time that, yes, this will always be an issue for him while his eyes are telling her a silent _thank you _for the reassurance she just gave him.

"Could you think about it, anyway, before you refuse? Please, Gill..."

In the end, it's not his reasoning. It's his voice, the look in his eyes, his vulnerability, and moreover, the way he says her name and practically begs her to marry him that convince her that this can't be a mistake. _Please, Gill..._ She never was uncertain what was the right thing to do because she doubted her love for him or his love for her. She only feared the demons of their past would be able to reach them and destroy their present if they dared to make their love official, so to speak, and marry. But how can she be afraid when he is so sure that this will work and even more so determined to make it work. _Please, Gill..._

She counts to ten, listens to her heartbeat. An inner calm sets in when she leans over to kiss him.

"Okay then."

"Okay then? Bloody hell, who of us reads the romance novels? You consider that an appropriate answer?"

But Cal is smiling in a deliriously happy way even if he unsuccessfully tries to make it look like a smug smirk.

"Okay then, put a ring on my finger," Gillian varies her answer, hushing him by putting her fingers against his lips when he wants to say something. "Yes, I read romance novels. But I already had the oh-so-romantic wedding followed by a marriage that didn't work out. I want it to be different this time. I want it to be real. So, put a bloody ring on my finger, Cal. And make sure it's a nice one."

He does.

* * *

**The beginning**

Was there even a beginning? Most of the time, it feels as if it always has been the two of them. But, of course, there was a beginning, or in fact, several beginnings.

There was that first time when Dr. Cal Lightman opened the door to her office and saw Dr. Gillian Foster, the woman his superiors had chosen to be his psychiatrist. To this day, Cal remembers distinctly that he was almost mad at her for looking so good, being so self-balanced, for putting a spell on him because how else could he explain the feeling he had every time he saw her, and moreover, the rest of the time when her absence felt like a void. It was a beginning, in a way, because after his therapy Cal asked Gillian to set up The Lightman Group with him but not _the_ beginning. However, it was a decision that changed both of their lives even if they had not the slightest idea back then how profoundly the changes would be in the long run.

Little did he know. It only was a foretaste of something else, something that would taunt him for years to come while he was still married and she was still married. Then, when they both were free eventually, something shifted between them. It was the first time they actually had a choice, but commitment issues, bad timing or maybe simply fate, didn't allow this first time to become the beginning it could have been.

More years passed by, and they were stuck or so it seemed. Until this evening that begins like every other evening and yet...

They are sitting in her office, talking about a case. Gillian has turned the screen of her computer around so that they can sit next to each other in front of her desk and look at it, comparing micro expressions and discussing the results of their analysis.

Cal always thought there would be a trigger. Something out of the ordinary that would force him or her to act. Then again, so many things already happened that weren't ordinary that he wonders what else he is waiting for. Attacks, threats to their lives, hostage situations. They somehow managed to handle it all but if even the awareness that they came close to losing each other wasn't a sufficient trigger, then what is?

There will be no trigger. Ever. At least not the kind he was waiting for. Cal doesn't know why he realizes it now, on this of all evenings. Or maybe he does know because it is the first time they are discussing a case that animated after Claire's death and after Gillian retreated temporarily into that invisible cage of grief and loss. She is back, and she is different but in a good way. On one hand, she is her old, self-confident self. On the other hand, she appears to be even more gentle and empathic than before beneath her professional facade. It strikes a chord in him every day anew how seeming inconsistencies melt when it comes to her unique personality. Strength and vulnerability. Compassion and rigidity. Therefore, and according to his realization, there _is_ a trigger, after all, that makes him act. Save that it is not something that happens. This certain trigger has been there the whole time. _What are you waiting for? _Emily asked him not long ago when he confessed to her that he loves Gillian. The sudden clarity is almost blinding. There is nothing he is waiting for. The trigger is Gillian. Right there beside him. Challenging him every day, daring him to act. All he has to do is reach out to her.

They talk about the case, look at the screen, exchange papers, lean forward or back, their hands, arms or even bodies touching briefly as usual. It is a steady rhythm of contact, distance, contact. And, as always, every brief touch makes Cal want more. This feeling is not new to him, starving for her attention, and moreover, for more physical contact than hugs and their kisses to the corner of the mouth they have perfected over the years. It's a burning hunger, raw, needy and completely selfish. Tonight, though, the physical desire is a low, albeit ever present, fire. Instead, it is all about emotions.

His realization weighs heavy on Cal. Maybe actually all he has to do is reach out to her. _What are you waiting for? _He remembers Emily's voice again. Soft, and yet, pushing him to do the right thing because besides Gillian she knows him best, knows how difficult this is for him. And it works; the memory gives him the strength to finally act. Unlike every other time before, he doesn't pull his hand away from her arm after he leaned over and gave her a file. At first, she doesn't even notice it, already studying the file and sharing her thoughts with him. Only when she is about to flourish her hands to emphasize her arguments as she always does, Gillian becomes aware that something is different, that for some reason his hand is still on her arm. She stops talking and frowns, not understanding what happens.

It is already dark outside, and their silhouettes are reflected in the window glass. Gillian looks at their reflections and not at him as if she hopes to find an explanation there. Then her gaze wanders over her arm to his hand, and eventually she turns to look at him. The realization, or even acceptance, that this is not her imagination playing tricks on her has sunken in.

Cal doesn't know what he expects to find in her eyes. Hesitation maybe or even fear. He didn't expect what he sees now – she is perfectly calm. And it's not as if she doesn't understand the heavy meaning of his light touch. Gillian needs no explanation other than what she reads in his face.

"Why now?" is all she asks. "Why tonight?"

"I don't have an answer to that, luv," Cal says, and as vague as it is, it seems to be sufficient.

It makes sense that in a world so complicated and special as theirs, the most words are said unspoken. Cal waits until the look in Gillian's eyes give him permission. Then he leans over until his lips touch hers. It is a soft, lingering kiss. There is time for the raw hunger that is starting to spread through his body (and maybe, most likely, through hers, too) later. Their here and now is about much more than physical need or simple mutual attraction.

After a while, Gillian pulls away gently and smiles at him.

"I think you just gave me the answer I needed," she says.

Yes, there was a beginning, and this is it.

* * *

_**The end** (or the beginning?) _


End file.
